


shake it off (darkest before the dawn)

by Anonymous



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: AU typical violence, Alternate Universe - Spies & Secret Agents, Gen, Handwaving, Mind Games, Non-Consensual Drug Use, Sorry not sorry Toronto, Toronto are the bad guys
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-11
Updated: 2019-11-11
Packaged: 2021-01-27 12:56:24
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,892
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21392527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: When Charlie, Pasta, and Matt are grabbed from Charlie's living room, their team will do whatever it takes to get them back.aka the handwave-y generic spy au that no one asked for
Kudos: 23
Collections: anonymous





	shake it off (darkest before the dawn)

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings:  
\- torture  
\- injury  
\- non-consensual drug use  
\- mind games  
\- panic attack
> 
> See end notes for more details
> 
> Could be read as pre-prefix boys. Started as a whumptober prompt and spiraled from there.
> 
> This is a work of fiction, inspired by real life figures but def not claiming (or attempting) to portray them accurately.

Charlie wakes up slow. The first thing he notices is that he’s cold. The second is that he can’t move his arms. After that, panic has him jolting towards consciousness. 

“Oh good, you’re awake.” 

He opens his eyes, flinching away from the bright light. He can’t see the speaker, but they sound faintly familiar. 

“What— where am I?”

“Oh kid, we’ll ask the questions.” the speaker steps into the light and Charlie isn’t sure if he wants to flinch away or spit in the man’s face. It’s Kadri, the man whose bullet took Jake out of the field for almost six months last year. Charlie’s fucked if Babcock’s crew has him. He tries to remember how he even got here, but it’s a blank. 

“What do you want?” he spits, mostly to buy himself some time. 

Kadri hits him hard enough that he almost blacks out. He probably has a concussion or something. 

“I told you to keep your smart mouth shut.”

Charlie is quickly discovering that his self-preservation instincts are shit because he does not keep his ‘smart mouth’ shut. “Kinda hard to answer questions if I can’t talk.”

He’s expecting to get hit again, but instead Kadri turns to someone Charlie can’t see and says, “Bring the others in Mo. That’ll shut him up.”

Charlie’s eyes drift shut in spite of himself. His head hurts so much, he can barely think. He’s still trying to figure out who  _ the others _ could be when a door creaks open. 

“— your fucking grandkids will feel it, you fucking asshole, don’t fucking  _ touch _ him.”

A person hits the ground and groans. Charlie drags his eyes open. He knows that voice. “Matt!”

But it isn’t Matt on the ground. It’s Pasta, pale and only half-conscious. Matt is behind him, held between two stern-faced goons. There’s a bruise across his cheekbone and his eyes go wide when he catches sight of Charlie.

“Now that the whole gang is here,” Mo— who turns out to be Morgan Reilly— steps past a struggling Matt and kicks Pasta in the ribs with a smug smile. “Who wants to get started?”

* * *

Jake was late for dinner, that’s the only thing that saved him. He tells Zee as much and repeats it to Brandon as they wait for the brass to finish up with Zee and Bergy. His heart still feels like it’s beating out of his chest and Brandon is giving him a worried look, though that could be because three of their agents— their friends— are  _ missing _ . 

“Are you sure you don’t need to go to the infirmary?” Brandon asks. 

“I’m fine,” Jake insists. “I’m just— There was blood. I need them to be okay.”

Because here’s the thing, being a spy isn’t a very safe job. Jake was shot in Toronto last year and was lucky to escape with just a scar that aches in the cold. But there’s getting shot on the job and then there’s disappearing from your apartment leaving only blood behind. Jake didn’t realize what a big difference there was until now. 

“We’ll find them,” Brandon reassures him. 

“They were supposed to be safe,” Jake says before he can stop himself. “That’s the difference.”

Brandon looks stricken, but before Jake can apologize or anything, Brandon pulls him into a hug. “Zee and Bergy are on it,” he mumbles into Jake’s hair. “Trust them.”

And Jake does. He really does. It’s just, Brandon doesn’t really go into the field. He does tech and groundwork and other important things, but he doesn’t infiltrate parties to talk to dangerous people. He doesn’t know what it’s like to look someone in the eyes and know they want to hurt you. When you’re undercover, you can’t waste time thinking about what will happen if you get caught. But here, now, Jake has all the time in the world. Charlie is exposed, in enemy hands and they want to hurt him, Jake knows they do. And it’s not just him. It’s Gryz and Pasta too. Gryz never knows when to shut his mouth and Pasta is way too gentle for how lethal he is. They’re going to be hurt. They’re going to— 

He can’t breathe. 

“Jake, Jake!” 

He tries to tell Brandon that he can’t breathe but he can’t seem to talk either. His vision goes dark at the edges and his knees buckle. As his back hits the wall, he wonders if he got shot again.

“Get Krej, now,” Brandon snaps. “Look at me, Jake.”

Jake is trying. He really is. It’s just that he’s pretty sure he got shot and he’s never going to see his best friend again. But if he got shot, that means Brandon is in danger too. He can’t let anyone else get hurt. He tries to drag his eyes open, not sure when he closed them. 

“That’s it.” Brandon holds his gaze. His eyes are wide and scared. 

Jake tries to tell him to get to safety but all that comes out of his mouth is a strangled gasp. 

“Jake, hey can you look at me?”

That’s Krej. Jake drags his gaze over to where the older man is kneeling beside Brandon.

“Can I touch you?” Krej asks. 

Jake tries to say yes but he can’t form the words. He feels like he’s underwater, running out of air with no way out. 

Krej is amazing though, because he knows what Jake needs even though Jake can’t ask for it right now. He reaches out and places a reassuring hand on Jake’s shoulder. Jake can’t help flinching at the touch but he quickly relaxes into it. 

“We’re right here,” Krej says soothingly. He guides Brandon’s hand to Jake’s arm. “Can you breathe with me?”

Jake makes a desperate noise. It’d be embarrassing but it’s Krej, and he’s too far gone to care anyway.

“Just try,” Krej says. “That’s all I ask for.” 

He takes Jake’s hand and places it on his own chest. Jake tries to match his choking breaths to the rhythm of Krej’s even ones. 

“Good, good.” Krej moves his hand from Jake’s shoulder to the back of his neck. “I knew you could do it.” 

Slowly, Jake comes back to himself. “What was that?”

“Panic attack,” says Krej. 

Jake’s face burns. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me I--” 

“No, stop that,” Brandon orders. “You were right. I’m scared too.” 

“It’s not fair,” Jake mumbles.

Krej pulls him into a hug without hesitation. After a beat, Brandon joins in, shaking a little bit. 

“It is not fair,” Krej agrees. “We must trust that they are strong. They’ll come home to us.” 

* * *

Charlie doesn’t think he’s ever hurt this much in his life, not even during training. It’s not just physical hurt though, it’s fear for Matt and Pasta, and thinking about never seeing Jake, or Zee, or Bergy or his sisters, or anyone ever again. He doesn’t want to die here. 

“I might have a concussion,” he blurts out. 

Matt still looks somewhere between pissed and scared shitless. None of them are tied up, not that it matters. They’re in a dimly lit dirty cell with no windows, no way to get out. Pasta is sprawled between them, head in Charlie’s lap, mostly unconscious, as Matt attempts to bandage an ugly looking gash on his thigh. Charlie only barely passed basic field medicine, but he doesn’t need to be a doctor to know that the angry red inflammation and the steadily oozing blood are not a good sign. 

“Better stay awake then,” Matt manages. “Wish I could do more.”

“Wish we weren’t here,” Charlie whispers, running his hand through Pasta’s tangled hair. 

“Me too,” Matt admits. 

“Is he—” Charlie has to start again because he can’t go down that road right now. “How bad is it?”

Matt presses his lips together. “Pretty fucking bad.” 

“Out of the field for a few months bad or career ending bad?” Charlie asks. The third option is too awful to say out loud. 

“If he doesn’t get medical attention soon,” Matt shakes his head looking furious. “If it gets infected, it’ll be-- he needs real help or he’ll die.”

It hits Charlie like a punch in the face. “No.”

Matt’s eyes well with angry tears. “I can bandage it up and try to stop the bleeding but--”

“They’ll find us before then,” Charlie says, his hands clenching reflexively. “He can’t die. They’ll find us.”

“I hope so,” Matt says. He begins to wrap the strips of torn shirt material around Pasta’s wound. “I really fucking hope so.” 

* * *

“That’s fucking bullshit,” Marchy snarls. 

Jake is sitting on the floor in an abandoned conference room trying to keep his breathing even. When Zee stormed out of the meeting and ordered them to meet him here, Jake knew it wasn’t good news, but he couldn’t have imagined how bad it was. Bruce had approved recon and a preliminary rescue mission but the higher ups had refused to sign off on it. 

“Settle down, Marchy,” Bergy said voice soft but firm. “I’m angry too, but yelling at us won’t fix this.”

“We’re not going to listen are we?” Marchy demands. 

Zee presses his lips together. “What we’re about to discuss is treason, going against direct orders. If it gets out, you could be punished, fired, or worse. If you want to leave, no one will think any less of you.”

No one moves. 

“It was Toronto,” says Tuukka after a long beat of tense silence. “I was able to reconstruct footage from the back exit of the apartment building and facial rec tagged Kadri, Reilly, and Gardiner.”

Jake freezes. This is so much worse than he thought. 

“Breathe,” Brandon orders. “We know who has them. We’ll find them and bring them home.”

“Kadri,” Jake croaks. All he can think about is the pain in his shoulder and the smirk on Kadri’s face. 

“We will bring them home,” Brandon repeats. He runs his hands up and down Jake’s arms and it helps. 

“Jaro and I are taking shifts,” Tuukka says. “We’ll find them.” 

“We’ll be ready to go the minute you do,” Bergy says. 

Zee nods curtly. “Until then, it is imperative that we give no indication that we are disobeying orders. We cannot risk delays so we must operate as if we are in enemy territory.” 

“It will take some time to narrow down where they are being kept,” Tuukka says. “Toronto is well funded and they have friends in high places. We’ll likely only get one shot at this, so we need to be certain.”

“We will be,” Krej says, soft but sure. 

* * *

“Maybe you’ll be more cooperative for round two!”

Charlie doesn’t know the name of the goon restraining him and he doesn’t particularly want to. At least the man is quiet, unlike Reilly who never shuts up. 

“Maybe you should go fuck yourself,” Matt snaps. 

He’s once again held between two men, one blond and one with a dark scruffy beard. He’s struggling wildly and Charlie can see bruises beginning to form on his arms. Charlie should maybe be offended that Matt rates two goons and he only gets one. But he can barely see straight, and also people who live through it tend to only underestimate Matt once. 

“That mouth is going to get you in trouble Matthew,” says Reilly patronizingly. 

Matt spits at him. 

Reilly wipes it away with two fingers. “Just remember  _ you _ wanted to do this the hard way.”

He gestures to the men holding Matt and they drag him out of the way. Reilly walks past Charlie, who’s half leaning on the man restraining him, too dizzy to fight, and stops in front of Pasta. 

“Don’t you put your fucking hands on him,” Matt snarls. 

Pasta is curled up on his side, shivering. Charlie can’t tell if he’s conscious or not, but he really hopes he isn’t.

Reilly smirks. “This could have been avoided if you had just behaved.”

He roughly flips Pasta onto his back in one motion and presses his free hand into the filthy bandage on Pasta’s thigh. Charlie closes his eyes like that’ll make everything stop. 

Pasta screams. 

Matt screams too, wordless and furious. 

Charlie opens his eyes. Pasta’s writhes, trying to get away from the pain but Reilly doesn’t stop. 

“Stop, stop, stop.” It takes Charlie a moment to realize that he’s the one begging. 

“Mo--” says one of the young men holding Matt, the blond, barely loud enough to be heard over Pasta’s screaming. 

“Shut up Willy.” Reilly turns to Matt and looks him dead in the eyes. “You can stop this. Beg me not to hurt him.”

“Don’t hurt him, please.” Matt’s face is bloodless and his eyes are blank. 

Reilly presses harder and Pasta screams again. “You’ll have to do better than that.”

“Please! Please don’t hurt him. Stop,  _ please _ !” Matt is really begging now. He sounds as desperate as Charlie feels. 

Reilly hums. “That’s more like it.”

He lets up and Pasta goes limp, panting. 

“We can revisit this lesson anytime,” Reilly says. He steps forward and grabs Matt’s face, wrenching him forward and forcing him to look up. “So just remember that next time you decide you want to get smart with me.”

Charlie can see Matt clench his jaw in an effort to keep his mouth shut.

Reilly tightens his grip to the point that it must be painful. “Say thank you.”

“Thank you,” Matt grits out. His cheeks are burning red and his voice shakes. 

Reilly smiles nastily. “See, they can learn.” 

* * *

Jake is huddled in the back of the room on a cot when the call comes in. Krej had sent him to the basement with Tuukka and Jaro, and ordered him to stay out of the way and try to get some sleep. He’s dozing fitfully when the ringing of a phone breaks the silence of the room. 

Tuukka picks up immediately. “Hello?”

“Who the fuck—” Jaro doesn’t get to finish before Tuukka cuts him off with the sharp wave of a hand. 

“Call Zee now,” Tuukka mouths and he presses the speaker button. 

“— they’re all alive.” Jake doesn’t recognise the young man speaking. He has an accent that Jake can’t place and he sounds breathless, a little terrified. “Mcavoy and Grzelcyk have minor injuries. Mcavoy is concussed but it doesn’t appear serious. Dav— Pastrnak needs medical attention.”

Holy  _ shit _ . It’s one of Babcock’s crew. It has to be. 

“Why are you calling?” Tuukka asks when the man pauses for breath. 

“Mo said— But then he— They’re gonna let David die,” his voice catches and he sounds like he’s trying very hard not to cry. “I can’t— I can’t do this.” 

Jake’s stomach clenches with fear for Pasta. In spite of himself, he aches for the man on the phone who’s losing the battle with tears. 

If Tuukka feels any sympathy, he doesn’t show it. “If this is a trap, I will find you and make you pay in blood. I will find your brother, your sisters, your parents. No one will be safe.” 

“It’s not, it’s not,” The man is crying for real now. “Just, just save him. Please— I can’t— I can’t be the reason he—” 

“We’ll remember this,” says Tuukka and Jake’s not sure if it’s meant to be a reassurance or a threat. He hangs up the phone. 

“Zee and Krej are on their way. Marchy and Bergy are out. I already sent them the alert to get back here,” Jaro rattles off. 

Tuukka types in coordinates without looking up. “This is where he says they’re being kept. It’s inside our search radius.” 

“Who was that?” Jake asks. “Why did he— how did he even get your number?”

“William Nylander,” Tuukka answers. “He grew up with David, got involved with Babcock around the time that David entered training. They went through a lot together as teenagers. It’s plausible that he would want to save David’s life, but we can never rule out the possibility of a trap.”

It takes Jake a second to realize that if Pasta and Nylander knew each other as teenagers, it was when Pasta was working for the other side. 

It’s not like it’s a big secret that Pasta has a rough past that involved working for some organized crime family in Sweden. It’s just that Pasta is so sunny, so genuine, and so kind, that it’s easy to forget how dangerous he really is. Jake doesn’t know details but he knows it was heavy stuff. If Pasta and Nylander went through it together, he can believe Nylander is telling the truth. He  _ needs _ Nylander to be telling the truth because the alternative is too painful. 

Zee bursts into the room with Krej on his heels. “Jaro says you found them.”

“More like someone found them for us,” Tuukka says. “William Nylander called. He thinks David is dying. Could be a trap.”

“Nylander would risk his life for David,” says Krej without hesitating. He turns to Jake. “You didn’t sleep.”

“Couldn’t,” Jake says. “Do you really think that’s where they are?”

Tuukka presses his lips together in a thin smile. “It’s plausible enough that I’m willing to stake their lives on it.”

* * *

The minute the door closes, locking them in again, Matt begins to cry. “I’m sorry, I’m so so sorry,” he mumbles. 

Charlie can’t even tell who he’s apologizing to. 

“Matty no,” he says, a little desperate. “It’s not your fault. None of this is your fault.” 

“Chuck’s right,” Pasta rasps, but it just makes Matt cry harder. 

“Please don’t cry,” Charlie begs, close to tears himself. “It’s okay. It’s not your fault. It’s okay.” 

“I should have fucking kept my mouth shut,” Matt can barely get the words out through heaving sobs. 

He looks awful. His face is blotchy red. His black eye is so swollen he probably can’t see out of it and his split lip is sluggishly bleeding again. The bruises on his arms stand out starkly in the harsh light, black and blue handprints pressed into his ashy skin. He looks fragile and it scares Charlie, because Matt isn’t a big guy, but he never looks fragile. 

“Not your fault,” says Pasta. His voice is strained but firm. “Proud of you, telling them to fuck off.”

Matt manages a watery smile through tears. “It’s my brand. I can’t help it.”

Pasta lets out a choked laugh that tapers off into a muffled groan. “Next time, I puke on Reilly’s ugly shoes.”

“Fuck, are you okay?” Matt scrambles over to get a better look at Pasta’s injury. “I should be comforting you. I’m--”

Pasta cuts him off. “Bullshit. We’re family, comfort each other.”

“It was your turn,” Charlie says, trying very hard not to let the tears fall. 

“I’m next,” Pasta says, deadpan. “Sorry Chuck, you have to wait.”

Matt giggles, strained but genuine.

“Do you think they’re coming for us? Charlie asks. 

Pasta nods, dead serious. “Know they are.”

* * *

The hardest part is the waiting. Tuukka says the hardest part is after, but Jake can’t imagine anything being worse than this. 

“— then Tuukka will cut the power,” Zee says. “Bergy and Marchy will go after our boys with Jake and Krej backing them up. The rest of us are support, you all know your teams?”

“Are you going to be able to hold it together in there?” Krej asks Jake. Zee is still talking. 

“Fuck you,” Jake snaps, without thinking. “I can be professional.”

Krej raises an eyebrow and Jake realizes what he just said, and to whom. 

“Shit, fuck, sorry,” he mumbles.

“I’m serious,” Krej says. “If you lose your shit, it could get someone killed.” 

“I won’t,” Jake insists. “I— I need to do this. I need to be there, you know?”

Krej nods. “I will send your ass right back to listen on comms with Brandon if I think you are lying to me about this.”

Jake shudders. It would be horrible to have to listen to everyone else in danger, too far away to help if something goes wrong. He doesn’t know how Brandon does it.

“I  _ won’t _ Krej, I swear.”

Krej reaches up and ruffles his hair. “We need you in the game, kid.” 

Jake can’t help but lean into the touch. 

Krej pulls him into a hug. “I hope you know I expect you to sleep on the way.”

Jake doesn’t protest. At least if he’s asleep he won’t have to suffer through all this waiting. “Kay,” he says quietly. “They’re gonna be okay, right?”

“Just try to sleep Jake,” Krej says, equally quiet. “I’ll wake you up when it’s time to go.” 

* * *

Charlie is not having a good time. And like okay, getting abducted from your apartment is not usually a walk in the park, even if you have training for this sort of thing. But he’s dizzy, and his headache has only gotten worse and he’s currently on his knees, arms wrenched behind his back while Reilly leers at him and a man in a suit-- who he assumes is Babcock-- looks on. It’s not great. 

“No more smart mouth Matty?” Reilly asks mockingly. “I guess we’ll have to make our own fun.”

“You practice that in the mirror,” Pasta grits out. He’s pale and clammy, kneeling in the same position as Charlie. It must be agonizing with his leg wound. 

“More interesting when you’re not crying like a child, aren’t you?” Reilly says, running a possessive hand through Pasta’s hair. Charlie’s skin crawls watching it. Pasta hisses something in Czech and Babcock clears his throat. Reilly walks behind Pasta and the back of Charlie’s neck prickles. It’s hard not to panic when he can barely move and he can’t see what’s going on. 

“Eenie, meenie, minie,  _ mo _ ,” Reilly cackles as he finishes the chant, cracking himself up. 

“Just do it, Mo,” the blond man who protested Pasta’s torture, says irritably. 

Pasta’s head snaps up, but Charlie doesn’t get a chance to identify the look on Pasta’s face because a hand grabs the back of his neck roughly and then there’s the sharp prick of a needle. He yelps reflexively. 

“What did you do to him?” Matt demands. 

The room swims in front of Charlie’s eyes and he suddenly has to bite the inside of his cheek to keep his stomach from rebelling. 

“Pretty boy will be just fine if you cooperate.” Reilly’s voice sounds wrong. His hand on the back of Charlie’s neck is like a brand. 

“No, no, don’t.” The words spill out of Charlie’s mouth without permission. He’s not even sure what he’s protesting, just that he doesn’t want it. 

“Charlie, Charlie, it’s okay. It’s gonna be okay.” 

Matt’s words rush over him like water, threatening to pull him under. He feels weirdly detached from everything and the small part of him that can still think clearly knows that it’s drugs that are fucking with his head. Charlie’s unceremoniously yanked back to his aching body when Reilly drags his nails across the back of his neck. He screams. It feels like the tip of a knife, sharp bright pain, followed by angry buzzing under his skin. It hurts so much, too much. He’s faintly aware that it shouldn’t but that thought is a distant second to the pain. 

“— fucking asshole,” Matt spits. 

“So you don’t want to tell me about Operation Sniper?” Reilly asks. He still hasn’t let go and Charlie feels like he can’t breathe with the weight on the back of his neck. 

“What the fuck are you talking about?” Matt demands. 

Pasta takes a shaky breath and lifts his head to look up at Babcock. “Don’t know what you’re talking about, wouldn't tell you if we did.”

“We’ll see about that,” says Babcock. It’s the first time he’s opened his mouth. “Start on the lowest setting Mo. William, we need to have a discussion.”

The blond follows him out, head down, shoulders tense. Reilly finally lets go and Charlie’s body refuses to hold him up. The man restraining him makes no effort to hang on to him, smiling nastily when Charlie hits the ground. Charlie blacks out for a second, and when he comes back all he can do is lay on the floor panting. Pasta and Matt are both shouting but he can barely hear them, let alone make out what they’re saying. He’s about to ask them to please  _ please _ stop yelling when his head explodes with pain. 

He must scream but he can’t hear it over the  _ pain pain pain _ and the ringing in his ears. He thought it was bad before but this is a thousand times worse. It hurts so much that every thought he has fractures into kaleidoscope pieces. Not even interrogation training hurt like this. He feels hands on his shoulders and they burn. He drags his eyes open because he doesn’t want to die with his eyes closed. 

“Charlie, Charlie, breathe,” Matt is bending over him. He can’t hear the words but he can see the shape of them on Matt’s lips through blurry vision. 

Someone is speaking behind him— Pasta, the small part of his brain that can still think supplies— and it sends a new wave of pain through his body. He loses the detached part of himself in the next wave of agony. He’s crying. He can’t stop crying. He can’t breathe. He can’t, he— Finally, mercifully, it all goes dark. 

* * *

It isn’t hard to find them once they get through the first layer of defense. Marchy is the first one in and the sound he makes is enough to make Jake think that he doesn’t want to see what’s through the door. But he’s a professional and he promised Krej he could keep it together so he can’t hesitate. 

“Krej, we need you  _ now _ ,” says Bergy, just this side of panicked. If even Bergy is panicky, it must be bad. 

Jake steels himself and steps in. 

Matt is sitting, leaning against the wall. He looks like shit. He has a black eye, a bloody lip, bruises on his arms, and that’s just what Jake can see. 

Pasta is also up against the wall. There’s a grey tinge to his skin but his cheeks are burning red. His hair is limp and dirty, his mouth is set with pain and Jake can see blood beginning to seep through a ratty bandage around his thigh. 

On the floor between them, Krej is knelt over Charlie. 

Jake can’t stop the noise that rips out of his throat. Charlie is pale and sweaty. There are tear-tracks on his face and angry red scratches across the back of his neck. He’s semi-conscious, shaking and whimpering. When Krej reaches to take his pulse, he flinches away. 

“What did they do to him?” Jake asks. He locks the horror away until all that’s left is numb curiosity.

“Drugged him,” Pasta is slurring his words a little and his accent is coming through stronger than usual. “Something that heightened his senses, I think.”

“He screamed when I touched him,” Matt adds, sounding a little haunted. 

“Krej, report?” Bergy says. He’s kneeling next to Pasta, one gentle hand on the younger man’s shoulder. Marchy is guarding the door. Jake wants to go over and comfort Matt but he can’t seem to make his feet move. 

“He needs medical attention,” Krej says. “God only knows what they gave him, a hallucinogen maybe, on top of head trauma. I’d bring him to a hospital here if they wouldn’t ask the wrong sorts of questions.”

Jake shivers, a spike of fear penetrating the numbness. “But he’ll recover, right?”

“I don’t see anything that makes me think he won’t,” Krej allows. “But you know that I can’t promise anything this early.” 

“Can he be moved?” Bergy asks. 

Krej nods. “I want him out of here ASAP.” He turns to Pasta. “And don’t think I’ve forgotten about you. I know it’s bad.”

“Had worse,” says Pasta stubbornly, which is an awful thing to think about. 

“I think it’s infected,” Matt cuts in. “I tried to clean the wound but— it was— well, he reopened it, and he has a fever. It’s bad, really bad.”

“That bandage probably saved his life,” says Krej, and Matt sags a little, looking relieved. 

Jake finally manages to make himself move, bending down awkwardly between Charlie and Matt. He can’t bring himself to look at Charlie right now so he focuses on Matt, gesturing to his black eye. “That looks like it hurts.”

Matt huffs out a strained laugh. “Reilly doesn’t like my sense of humor.” 

Jake tries hard to block out the image of Reilly hitting Matt until his eye swells and his lip bleeds. “I’m sorry, does  _ anyone _ like your sense of humor? He’s not special.”

Krej turns from a quiet conversation with Pasta, in Czech. “Get him up Jake. We need to move.”

“This is gonna suck,” Jake tells Matt as he gets an arm around his waist.    
“Not like Pasta and Charlie,” Matt grits out, voice thick with pain. 

That just won’t do. “You heard what Krej said. You saved Pasta’s life.”

“Got him hurt too,” says Matt stubbornly. 

“Not your fault,” Jake replies. They’re moving slowly. Matt leaning on him as they turn the corner. The hallway is thankfully empty.

Matt looks away as best he can. “Mouthed off, Reilly made him scream, made me beg for it to stop.” 

Jake wants to throw up but he reminds himself that he promised Krej he could keep it together, plus however bad he feels, Matt must feel worse. “Still not your fault. Reilly is a piece of shit.” 

Behind them Charlie cries out and they both flinch. 

“How’d you find us?” 

Jake hesitates for a second. “One of Babcock’s crew called us. He ran with Pasta when they were kids and I guess they still care about each other. He said he couldn’t watch Pasta die.”

Matt doesn’t say anything for a long minute. “There was a guy, young, like us. He didn’t like what Reilly did to Pasta. Guess it was nice of him to get me and Charlie out too. He could have run with Pasta and let us rot” 

“Pasta would never have left you,” Jake says. It’s true. 

They’re almost out, steps away from the van, when Matt begins to cry without warning. “Babcock’s guy was right. They were gonna kill Pasta. I thought we were gonna have to watch.”

“God, Matty,” Jake can’t think of anything else to say. 

“And then they drugged Charlie, and he was screaming and crying, and I thought he was gonna die too, and it would just be me, alone, and I’d have to tell you all how I let them die.” 

Jake shoves Matt into the back of the van. He’s crying now too and Matt is borderline hysterical. 

“It didn’t happen,” he promises desperately. “It didn’t. We’ve got you.”

Brandon doesn’t ask what’s going on or where the others are. He just hits the gas and pulls away. Jake doesn’t know how they made it but he’s grateful. The sooner they get out of Toronto the better. Nothing good seems to happen here. 

* * *

When Charlie first wakes up, he thinks he might be dreaming. He’s warm and nothing hurts, at least not the way it did. He’s lying on something soft and there’s a heavy weight across his stomach. He drags his eyes open to find that the weight across his stomach is Jake, dead asleep. 

“Does anything hurt? I can move him.”

Charlie flinches even though Krej didn’t mean to startle him. “No he’s okay. Pasta and Matt?”

“Matt’s okay, bruises and a cracked rib. He’ll be happy to see you awake,” Krej says, pulling up a chair to sit on the other side of Charlie’s bed, across from Jake. 

“Pasta?” Charlie asks again. 

Krej sighs. “He’ll be out for a couple months at least, but he’ll recover. It was touch and go for a little bit there.”

“How did you find us?”

Krej leans over and cards one hand gently through Jake’s hair. “Pasta has a contact in Toronto, a boy he knows from Sweden, William. He called us.”

Charlie isn’t sure how to feel about that. 

“The drug they gave you is out of your system,” Krej says after a long pause. “There should be no lasting effects but you should let me know if you experience any numbness, pain, or tingling in your extremities in the next few weeks.”

Charlie shivers a little. “I’ve never— that’s the worst pain I’ve ever felt, worst than training. I would have told them anything, but I couldn't even think.” 

“The drug was an unknown neuropathic agent,” Krej says evenly. “It attacked your nerves to induce an  allodynic response, that’s a condition where normally non-painful stimuli trigger a pain response. There was also hallucinogenic effects. I was able to synthesize an antidote based on your blood work. You got lucky, there could have easily been long-term damage.” 

It shouldn’t help to hear it laid out in clinical terms like that, but it does. 

“I knew you would come for us. I knew you would fix it,” he says, needing Krej to know. 

“You should try to get some more rest. Zee will be back later, he had to go to a meeting,” says Krej, smiling thinly. He gestures to Jake. “And good luck getting this one out of here.”

“He looks tired,” Charlie says. 

Krej nods, serious. “He was scared. We all were, but him especially. Especially because it was Toronto.”

Charlie hums in agreement. He’s witnessed Jake’s nightmares about Toronto more than once. 

“I need to go check on David,” Krej says finally. “I left Bergy with him but Marchy will get anxious if Bergy isn’t back before he wakes up.” 

“Of course,” says Charlie. “Thanks.”

“Torey or Brandon will be by in about an hour to check on you if Zee isn’t done yet. Try to get some sleep. 

Charlie nods and closes his eyes, but he doesn’t drift off, he just floats until Jake jolts awake. 

“Charlie!” he yelps, still half asleep. 

“Right here,” says Charlie quietly. 

Jake bursts into tears. 

Charlie blocks out the suddenly vivid memory of Matt crying. “Don’t cry. It’s okay.”

“I thought you were going to die,” Jake manages to say. “You were supposed to be safe but then you weren’t and it was awful.” 

That actually sums it up pretty well. “I’m okay now. You came. I knew you would.”

“They said we couldn’t but Zee said fuck that,” Jake says. His breathing is starting to even out. “We’ll always come.”

“I think we better avoid Toronto for a while,” Charlie says. “We just need one more disaster for the hatty.” 

“We’re not going anywhere near Toronto,” Jake says vehemently. He leans over, pulling Charlie into a gentle hug “We’re staying here where it’s safe.”

Charlie resolutely doesn’t point out that he didn’t get grabbed in Toronto, he got grabbed in his own living room. Instead he focuses on how safe he is  _ here _ , with Jake, with Zee, and Krech, and Bergy, and Tuukka to have his back. Later he’ll need to talk to Matt and Pasta, to sort out his feelings, to cry it out. But for now, this is enough. He’s safe. He closes his eyes and goes to sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Detailed content notes:  
Charlie is hit, drugged, and has a concussion.  
Matt is beaten (off-screen). Reilly also plays mind games with him, hurting Pasta and blaming Matt.  
Pasta has a leg injury that gets infected, Reilly tortures him to punish Matt.  
Jake has a panic attack.
> 
> William Nylander makes a cameo.


End file.
